


Three Sentence Fics: Tolkien

by Zdenka



Category: Farmer Giles of Ham - J.R.R. Tolkien, Sir Orfeo (Poem), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3 Sentence Ficathon, 3 Sentence Fiction, Canonical Technically-Not-Death, Crossover, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Númenor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-22 02:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3711175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/pseuds/Zdenka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of fills written for rthstewart's 3 Sentence Ficathon in 2013 and 2015, for Tolkien-based prompts.</p>
<p>Chapters 2 & 3: More Tolkien-based fills written for caramelsilver's 3 Sentence Ficathon in 2016 and 2017.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_prompt from ailavyn_siniyash: Silmarillion, Morgoth and Húrin, Elbereth_

Aurë Entuluva

Day does come again, and night; thousands of them, passing over him on the mountain's peak, until he is weathered as the rocks.

He does not pray anymore; but at night Húrin gazes grimly upward at the host of stars and wonders if the stories told of the Star-Kindler were lies.

Morgoth laughs in his mind and taunts him: Pray to Me; I am the only Power Who hears you.

* * *

_prompt from with_rainfall: The Silmarillion, Ancalimë, a new day_

Ancalimë is dragged onto the steps in a cold dawn to meet the man they tell her afterwards is the King's Heir and her father.

That day marks the end of her peace; henceforth she is tossed back and forth between father and mother, Court and Emerië, like a small ship between too many winds. She lifts her chin and thinks, _someday I will make them all come to me._

* * *

_prompt from with_rainfall: Silmarillion, Sauron, man's greatest treasure_

Precious

Númenor is his, to wear like a ring or a jewel. So afraid of death are they, these heirs of the Land of the Star, that they will give their wealth, the works of their hands, even their children to the temple fires. Sauron smiles and considers how best to let them destroy themselves.

* * *

_prompt from ailavyn_siniyash: Silmarillion, Tar-Míriel, despair_

Míriel is drowning, though she walks on solid land in Armenelos. The wave soaks her garments until she feels their weight pulling her down, climbs higher to choke the voice in her throat. She makes herself smile when she takes her place beside her husband the King; and each day, a little more of her is washed away.

* * *

_prompt from ailavyn_siniyash: Silmarillion, Ar-Pharazôn, defeat_

In the hour of his glory, Ar-Pharazôn cannot imagine defeat. _Impossible,_ he thinks, _impossible,_ even as the earth crashes down upon him. When the burning weariness and disgust become too great, he begs for it to end; but there is no answer.

* * *

_Prompt from meridian_rose: Any, Any, stuck in the middle with you (filled as Silmarillion, Finarfin)_

Caught in the middle of his brothers' quarrels, Finarfin makes peace where he can, soothing hurt pride and ruffled tempers again and again.

Yet he can feel control slipping from his grasp; bad enough if it were only the two contending princes, but their children and their followers take up the conflict, magnifying each slight out of proportion, until even the pronunciation of a word becomes a battleground.

He loves his brothers -- Fingolfin more simply, in Fëanor's case mixed with exasperation and pity -- but as the Noldor ask him more and more often, with their eyes and voices, _Which side are you on?_ he longs to answer, _I choose neither._

* * *

_Prompt from wellinghall: Tolkien, Sir Orfeo meets Farmer Giles of Ham, any_

Some Are of Weal, and Some of Woe

"Here now," said Giles, "what do you mean by distracting my dog?"

The harper -- disreputably dressed in rags and with a long tangled black beard -- looked up mournfully and answered,

"No more I care for hawk or hound;  
in bitter sorrow I am bound,  
and naught on earth may bring me bliss  
without my lady Heurodis."

When the harper ceased playing in order to answer Giles, the spell of the music was broken; and Garm ran back to his master's side without the least shame, although a moment earlier he had been stretched out on the ground with his head resting upon his paws, caring for nothing but the music.

* * *

_prompt from adaese: Silmarillion & What's Opera Doc (Or Bunny of Seville); Maglor & Bugs Bunny; you know it makes sense._

Well, what did you expect in a Silmarillion fic? A happy ending?

Maglor found himself chasing the rabbit through a burning town, while the rabbit, somehow contriving to stay a few steps ahead of him, twirled the Silmaril insouciantly between its fingers. He screeched to a halt at the top of a cliff which certainly had not been there a moment before; the rabbit missed its step and tumbled off, leaving Maglor feeling absurdly guilty. But wait, was the rabbit truly flapping its ears like wings -- and did it just wink at him?


	2. Chapter 2

(The following three anonymous prompts are based on Turandot's three riddles in Puccini's opera _Turandot_.)

I. A Flame Refused

_Any, any, What is ice which gives you fire and which your fire freezes still more?_

"It would please me, cousin, if you would accept this," he falters, holding out a circlet of gold (his own work, and he thinks it well done, though it cannot match the glorious gold of her hair).

Galadriel meets his eyes and lets him see: the flames of Losgar reflected across the water, the bitter and deadly cold of the Grinding Ice.

Celebrimbor bows his head and can find no words.

II. To Rekindle Hearts

_Any, any, What is born each night and dies each dawn? Hope._

Celebrimbor has never forgotten how his father's words left the people of Nargothrond stricken with cold fear: how they trembled and turned away from their king, not meeting his eyes, how Finrod's face grew bleak as he cast aside the crown.

Celebrimbor has never had his father's or his grandfather's eloquence, to kindle hearts with flame; but he has the skill of his hands, and perhaps in this new Age that has dawned, he can turn that skill to good, begin to mend what is broken. He cannot fully atone for his own silence on that day and for all those he failed to save; but with his greatest work completed, the Ring of Fire lying warm in his palm, he can finally acknowledge his own secret hope.

(Title from Cirdan's words to Gandalf in LOTR Appendix B: "For this is the Ring of Fire, and with it you may rekindle hearts in a world that grows chill.")

III. Death is One

_Any, any, What flickers red and warm like a flame, but is not fire? Blood._

Celebrimbor's vision is dazzled with gold, that shining circle marked with letters of flame; he can feel how his blood trickles over his torn flesh, warm as fire. The fire of his spirit is nearly spent, guttering lower with every beat of his heart; but he has enough left in him for this. One more time, he raises his head to face Annatar -- his friend, his betrayer -- and says hoarsely, "No."

* * *

_anonymous prompt: Any, any, this was a triumph. I'm making a note here: huge success._

Except the Ones Who Are (Un)dead

He who was once a proud King of Men had faded into a wraith; hating the sunlight, bereft of love or memory or hope, holding nothing dear but the precious Ring that Sauron had given him. So far it worked as Sauron had anticipated: the wraith's spirit enslaved to one of the Nine, that was in turn bound to the One Ring he bore on his own hand; but there still remained the final test, to see if the last spark of his will was extinguished.

"Give me your Ring of Power." 

(The prompt and title are of course from Jonathan Coulton’s song “Still Alive.”)

* * *

_prompt from silvr_dagger: Any, any, I wish you flying dreams_

On the shores of Númenor, soothed by the sound of waves, Elros dreams: he is on a ship that sails through a dark and glittering sea, night above him and below him and all around him; but the golden-haired mariner who guides the ship does not turn to look at him.

In the green valley of Imladris, where the river Bruinen rushes over its stony bed, Elrond dreams: he is flying through the air, while a white gull with Elvish-bright eyes spreads her wings to the wind with mournful crying.

The dream fades with dawn; but not before each of them sees a star descending earthward in a shining arc, and a couple who clasp hands at the top of a white tower.

* * *

_prompt from silvr_dagger: Any, any, Reminding me that even prison walls/turn to dust and fall before the open sky_

There beyond your walls the spring wind blows

Lúthien looks back once as they stagger away from Tol Sirion, Beren leaning on her shoulder.

In that moment when she feared Beren was dead, rage and grief singing through her blood, she threw her head back and screamed a single bright, glittering word -- and the walls of Sauron's fortress shattered and fell before her.

She can see now how the ragged piles of stone will settle, how the patient roots of vines and new saplings will pull them slowly apart and cover them with green; at last, even here, young trees will unfurl their leaves and stretch upward toward the open sky. 

(Title from a line in the Russian musical _Finrod’s Song_ , [translated by bunn](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7821940))


	3. Chapter 3

_Anonymous prompt: Any, any, do not weep, maiden, for war is kind_

Huor is fiercely glad when he learns they are to take the war to the Enemy at last, but he finds Rían in tears beside a patch of her favorite flowers.

"Will Morgoth take everything?" she murmurs as he kneels down beside her; to his surprise, she catches his shoulders in a tight, desperate grip and leans her head against him.

"Whatever happens," he promises recklessly, "I will hold one bit of green land for you," and he is rewarded when she smiles through her tears.

* * *

_Anonymous prompt: Any, any, "dark they were, and golden eyed"_

Beren spends his days in peace with Lúthien on the green isle, and he can imagine no greater bliss. Even so, he has dreams from which he wakes shuddering: bound and helpless in the dark, while a snarling shadow-shape with golden eyes moves inexorably closer to his father, or Finrod, or Lúthien herself. If Lúthien is awake, she sings to him, and her enchantment dispels all fear; if she sleeps, he buries his face in her hair and breathes in its scent until his heartbeat slows again, until his foolish dazed mind can believe that they are here and together and safe.

* * *

_Anonymous prompt: Any, any, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul._

Túrin, Master of Denial

Turambar, master of fate, he calls himself, and he hopes finally to shake off his family's curse. The Men of Brethil honor him, and many of them are eager to follow him in battle. He is master of himself as well; at times he remembers the gleam of the dragon's eyes, but he does not let it daunt him.

* * *

_Anonymous prompt: Any, any, the wind is rising_

A Wind of Power in Tarmenel

Elwing sings softly as she binds the Silmaril on his brow, her deft fingers twining the Nauglamír's gold chains into his hair; her eyes shine very brightly in the Silmaril's light. Eärendil cannot help doubting; so many times he has tried to seek the West, and always he has been driven back. 

But this time a new wind comes, that prickles against Eärendil's face like frost and lightning; the sails fill, and they are flying West.

* * *

_Prompt from lizzie_marie_23: any, any, If you call your dad you can stop it all_

"This is beyond us," Manwë said heavily, "we have not the authority." He looked around the Ring of Doom; one by one, the Valar assented. They called on Eru Ilúvatar, and felt the shape of the World change . . .

* * *

_Anonymous prompt: Any, any, "If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need."_ (filled as _The Lord of the Rings_ , Éowyn/Faramir)

She does not give up the sword completely, nor does he; but there is warm earth on her fingers now to go with the sword-callouses. She has a garden, fragrant with thyme (and simbelmynë too, for remembrance); he has a rich store of books, including some sent by Elrond of Rivendell before he departed Middle-earth. Little by little, Ithilien grows green again.


End file.
